M403 


cMountain 
Campfire 


A    JVLountain    Camft-fire 


Compiled  By 

EDMOND  S.\MEANY, 

President   of   The  Mountaineers. 


'On  till  at  last  I  stand  on  topmost  tip." 


Photo  by  A.  W.  Archer 


?r? 


HEMKY  MORSE  STEPHEN*  M  H  %  3 

INTRODUCTION. 


The  outing  of  The  Mountaineers  for  1909  was  devoted  to  the  ex- 
ploration and  enjoyment  of  the  northern  slopes  of  Mount  Rainier.  It 
embraced  three  weeks,  from  July  1 7  to  August  7.  The  expedition 
was  notable  for  several  reasons:  It  was  one  of  the  few  occasions 
that  a  successful  ascent  was  made  from  that  direction  and  it  was  the 
first  time  that  women  had  made  the  ascent  from  the  north  side;  there 
were  present  two  delegates,  E.  W.  Harnden  and  G.  Dana  Emerson, 
of  the  Appalachian  Club  of  Boston,  as  well  as  Miss  Katherine  Reed, 
of  Washington,  D.  C,  and  Miss  Freda  Sanford,  of  Connecticut; 
the  Austrian  Alpine  Club  was  represented  by  Hans  Otto  Knispel,  of 
Tyrol;  there  were  as  many  as  ninety-three  in  camp  at  one  time  and 
sixty-two  of  them  made  the  ascent,  the  highest  number  that  has  ever 
gone  to  the  top  of  Rainier  in  a  single  party;  the  intrepid  leader  of 
the  party  was  Asahel  Curtis,  who  accomplished  his  difficult  task  with 
his  left  arm  bandaged  to  his  body,  the  result  of  a  recently  broken 
collar-bone. 

The  permanent  camp  was  in  Moraine  Park  on  the  east  side  of 
Carbon  Glacier.  The  temporary  camp  of  the  climbers  was  on  a 
ledge  of  rocks  about  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  and  overlooking 
White  River  Glacier.  Here  was  spent  the  night  of  Thursday,  July 
29,  and  at  4  a.  m.  of  July  30  the  ascent  was  begun.  Returning  too 
late  to  reach  permanent  camp,  a  second  night  was  spent  on  the  rocks, 
when  the  place  was  named  in  honor  of  the  leader,  Camp  Curtis. 
When  the  summit  was  reached  the  party  was  impressed  by  the  im- 
portance of  an  unnamed  portion  of  the  mountain.  Columbia  Crest 
is  the  highest  dome,  Liberty  Cap  is  next  and  adjoining  this  is  another 
peak  seen  to  special  advantage  by  those  who  climb  from  the  north. 
To  this  portion  of  the  summit  The  Mountaineers  gave  the  name 
Russell  Peak,  in  honor  of  the  late  Professor  Israel  Cook  Russell,  who 


did  so  much  toward  surveying  and  charting  the  great  mountain  and 
its  glaciers.  The  party  was  accompanied  by  Major  E.  S.  Ingraham, 
who  during  the  past  twenty-five  years  had  made  five  ascents  from  the 
south  side  and  two  unsuccessful  attempts  from  the  north  side.  On 
this  occasion  he  was  accompanied  by  his  son,  Kenneth,  and  three 
young  companions.     The   party   of   five   spent   the   night   in   the   crater. 

One  enjoyable  feature  of  the  outing  was  the  evening  campfires. 
Here  would  assemble  the  entire  party  to  hear  the  announcement  of 
the  next  day's  programme,  after  which  all  would  join  in  the  singing 
and  other  festivities.  Half  the  names  around  Mount  Rainier  have 
been  conferred  by  Major  Ingraham.  When  that  veteran  arrived  in 
camp  he  responded  to  a  prompt  request,  by  explaining  the  origin  and 
meaning  of  many  of  the  names.  On  another  occasion  he  told  of  his 
ascent  of  Mount  Saint  Elias  with  the  Duke  d'Abruzzi,  and  at  the 
same  campfire  Mr.  Harnden  conveyed  a  greeting  from  the  Appalachain 
Club  and  Mr.  Knispel  rendered  some  Tyrolian  songs  with  appropriate 
echoing  yodles.  One  evening  was  devoted  to  a  reading  of  John 
Muir's  famous  adventure  on  an  Alaskan  glacier  with  the  little  dog 
"Stickeen."  One  evening  was  devoted  to  an  imitation  of  the  "Pay 
Streak"  at  the  Alaska-Yukon-Pacific  Exposition,  another  to  an  Indian 
Powwow  and  a  third  to  Limiricks,  when  there  was  displayed  an  un- 
usual supply  of  talent  for  nonsense  verse.  Miss  A.  Margaret  Coenen, 
of  Tacoma,  added  to  many  programmes  with  her  violin  playing.  Miss 
Katherine  Reed  wrote  a  sketch  of  the  party,  asking  the  members 
assembled  to  supply  the  adjectives.  The  result  was  a  wonderful 
fabric,  productive  of  much  fun.  The  singing  and  the  Sunday  services 
were  led  by  Rev.  F.  J.  Van  Horn.  On  each  Sunday  evening  mem- 
bers of  the  party  were  called  upon  for  quotations  from  the  Scriptures 
or  the  poets   referring   to   the   mountains  or   life  out-of-doors. 

Two  songs  dedicated  to  The  Mountaineers,  and  a  number  of  ori- 
ginal poems  were  read  at  the  campfires.  Individual  copies  of  these 
were  made  until  the  supply  of  paper  in  camp  was  exhausted.  Two 
of  the  climbers,  A.  W.  Archer,  and  I.  M.  Jensen,  of  the  Gateway 
Printing  Company,  have  arranged  for  publishing  the  poems  in  the 
present   form. 

EDMOND  S.  MEANY. 

Seattle,    August,    1909. 


M331155 


By  REVEREND  FRANCIS  J.  VAN  HORN. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  VOICES. 

Dedicated  to    The  Mountaineers,  24  July,    1909. 
Air:    "Old   Black   Joe." 


Far,   far  away,   their  snowy  peaks  I  see; 
Far,   far  away,   their  voices  call  to  me; 
And   in   my   soul    the   echoes   surge   and   roll, 
I  hear  the  mountain  voices  calling, 
Softly  to  me. 

Chorus : 

I'm  coming,  I'm  coming, 
And  my  heart  is  light  and  free; 
I    hear    the   mountain   voices   calling, 
Softly   to   me. 

Nearer    I    come    to    where    the  snow    fields    gleam, 

Higher    I    climb,   my   mate   the  singing   stream; 

And   as    I    rise,   close   to   azure  skies 

My  heart   leaps  high   at  voices  calling, 
Softly  to  me. 

Now   over   crags   still   up    I   press   and   on, 
Still    step    by   step   where   icy    dangers   yawn; 
Where    glistening    slopes,    like    shining,    blessed    hopes 
Invite  and  lure,  their  voices  calling, 
Softly   to  me. 

On   till   at  last  I .  stand  on  topmost  tip ! 

Then  shall  my  song  burst  out  from  joyful  lip; 

Then   kin   with   cloud,   my   soul   with   rapture   bowed, 

I   hush   my  heart   to  hear   God   calling, 

Softly  to  me. 


THE   GREAT    WHITE   HILLS   OF   GOD. 


From   flaming  depths  of  chaos  old 

They   came   at   His   command; 
Their   fiery    hearts   stood   still    and   cold, 

To  own   His   royal   hand; 
In    stately    ranks    they   wait    His    word 
In  bowed  worship  of  their  Lord 

The  great  white  hills  of  God. 

And   through   the   mystic   ages   dim 

They  don   their  robes  of  snow, 
In    awful    reverence   of    Him 

Whose   sov'reign   breath    doth    blow, 
Who    shakes    with    earthquake,    smites    with    storm, 
And  chastens  fierce  each  silent  form 

The   great  white   hills  of   God. 

Comes    man — a   tiny,    creeping   thing — 

A   bit  of   God's   own   self — 
Beneath   their  shade  to  sport   and  sing 

Awhile  forgetting  pelf, 
With   them  to   worship   and  be   still 
And   his   best   self   with    Heaven    fulfill 

Amid   the   great  white   hills   of   God. 

And  he  who  feels  akin   to   them 

With   undefeated   heart! 
Would    scale    their    sides,    their    heights    contemn ; 

At   avalanche's   start 
Would   laugh,   rejoice   at   tempest's  roar 
And   play   with   storm-clouds   as   they   pour 

Around    the    great    white    hills    of    God. 

But   they — they   calmly   watch    and    wait 

While   man   puts    forth   his   power; 
Full   well    they    know   his   certain    fate. 

How    short   his    little   hour! 
So,   when  he  sings,   they  whisper  "Soft!'' 
And   when   he   faints,   cry   "Look   aloft 

To   the  great  white  hills  of  God!" 


The   sunrise   studs   them   thick   with   pearls, 
With    crimson    links    each    fold; 

The  sunset  every  banner  furls 

Yet   leaves   their   crowns   of   gold; 

Then  ghostly  gray,   they  vigil  keep 

While  tired  man  dares   fall   asleep 
Among  the  great  white  hills  of  God. 

Teach   us,   O   great  white   hills,   to   trust, 

Be  silent  and  obey ; 
Thy  secret  tell   to  us  whose  dust 

Shall  mingle  with  thy  gray; 
From  out  the  centuries  speak  to  man 
To  count  his  years  as  but   a  span 

To  thine,  O  great  white  hills  of  God. 

But  yet,   ye  hills,    I'd  speak   to   thee, 

Across   the  years   I'd   call; 
My  dust  with   thine  may  seek   the  sea, 

My  days  be   few  and  small, 
My  name  be  lost  as  ages  roll 
But   I — a  man — I   have   a  soul, 

O    listen,    great   white    hills    of    God. 

To   thee,  O  hills,   I   lift  mine  eyes 

Whence  cometh  aid  to  me, 
And  o'er  the  hills  up  to  the  skies 

Maker   of   mount    and    sea; 
Amid  the  sorrow  and  the  strife 
Guard   Thou   each   puny,    precious   life 

As   watch   Thy   great  white   hills,   O   God. 

And   when   the  upward   toil   is  done, 

When  night  and  rest  are  near, 
Give   to   each   one   at   set   of   sun 

In  love  to  know  no  fear; 
Through    all    the    dark    Thy    presence    shine 
And   in   a  morning  all   divine 

To   see   the   great  white   throne   of   God. 

24  July,  1909. 


By  PROFESSOR  EDMOND  S.  MEANY. 


MOUNT  RAINIER. 

Thou   king  in  ermine  robes  of  crystal  snow, 
Lift   high   thy   royal   head   serene   and   proud, 
Disdain   the  stress  of  storm  embattled  cloud 
That   we   on   earth    they   majesty   may   know. 
Thy  crown  in  myriad  hues  doth  glint  and  glow — 
A    lure    for   some   in   each   swift   hurrying  crowd 
Whose    hopes    are    raised    and    hearts    anew    are    vowed 
To  catch,   like   thee,   God's   light  and  onward   throw. 
May   now   thy   imaged   grandeur    live   and   burn 
In  brain  of  men  who  scan  thy  glistening  dome 
Who    cut    the    mooring   cord    and,    listless,    roam; 
Give   them   the  wit  to  mountain  magic   learn: 
That    lofty    heights    but    type    the    souls    that   yearn 
For   supreme    love   in   perfect   human   home. 


'Thou   king   in   ermine   robes   of   crystal    snow. 


CLIMBING  THE  MOUNTAIN'S  RUGGED 
STEEP. 

Dedicated    to    The    Mountaineers,    21     July,     1909. 

Air:    "Rocked    in   the   Cradle   of    the    Deep." 

Climbing   the   mountain's   rugged   steep, 

I   wake  each  day  my   faith  to  keep: 

Believe   my   soul    that  God   is   near 

When    stars    gleam    from    the    azure   clear, 

Thy   windows   open    tow'rd   the   blue 

While    God's    pure    light    is    pouring    through. 

Chorus : 

Be  sure,   my  soul,   this   faith   to  keep, 

Climbing  the  mountain's  rugged  steep. 

Be  sure,  my  soul,   this  faith  to  keep, 

Climbing  the  mountain's  rugged  steep. 

And   thus,   my  soul,   through  din   and  strife 

As  mountaineer  reflect  in   life: 

That   trees   defy   the   storm's   cold   wrath 

And  heather  bounds  the  snowy  path; 

That    more    than    these    should    man    be    brave 

His   pure   heart's   love   to   hold   and   save 


CARBON  GLACIER. 


I  hail  thee,  river  of  ice  and  snow, 

Thou  source  of   our  valleys'   fertile  soil, 

I   climb  thy  seamy  sides  to   know 

A   tithe   of    thy    patient,    ceaseless    toil. 

Grind,    grind,    grind 

Huge   stones   to  dust,   oh,   stream! 
Grind,    grind,    grind 

Till   thy   sides   as  mirrors   gleam. 

Thy  open   lips  of   ice  doth  pour 

A   gushing  stream   in  noisy   flood, 
A  stream   released  in   joyful  roar; 

Behold!    a   glacier's  milk-white   blood. 

Grind,    grind,    grind 
To  crumbling  dust   these  stones! 
Grind,    grind,    grind 

The  mountain's  shattered  bones! 

Was   this  great  rock  by  Titan   tossed 

Thy  cold  brown  breast  to  crush  and  bruise 

Or   didst   thy   maiden,   wintry   frost, 

Launch  playful  boat  for  seaward  cruise? 

Grind,    grind,    grind 

The   rocks  however  hurled! 

Grind,    grind,    grind 

Thou  mill-stone  of  a  world! 

How   weak    the    pen,   how   vain    the   brush 
To  catch   the  hues  of   this  deep  gash! 

How  here   revealed   thy   power   to  crush, 
How  awful  is  thy  breathing's  crash! 

Grind,  grind,  grind 
In  cruel   jaws  of  ice! 

Grind,  grind,  grind, 
A   Devil's   Paradise! 


New  life  from  death,  eternal  whirl, 
How  brief  each   puny  span   of   life! 

How  long  the  atoms,  grinding,  swirl, 
Ere  seized  anew  for  a  season's  strife! 

Grind,  grind,  grind 
To  powder  every  stone! 

Grind,    grind,    grind, 

New  life  will  death   atone! 

I    mount    thy    shoulders'    utmost    height, 

Where  threat'ning  ice-cliffs  poise  and  nod, 

Where  avalanches  roar  in   flight, 

Like    flying   demons   cursed   of    God. 

Grind,  grind,  grind, 
And  grind  exceedingly  fine! 

Grind,    grind,    grind, 

My  Master's  will  and  thine! 

5   August,    1909. 


Where  threatening  ice-cliffs   poise   and  nod."  I'hoto  by  A.  W.  Archer 


THE  DOC-TOOTH  VIOLET. 


In   the  mountain's  hanging  gardens 

I   roamed   in   joy   today 

And  saw   a   lavish   treasure 

In    flowers    that   strewed   the   way. 

They  nod   and   sing   a  welcome, 
They  speak   to   those   who  know 
Of  life  and  love  in  summer 
Of   sleep   beneath   the   snow. 

And   one   with   snowy   petals 
My    memory    ever   thrills. 
Thou  art  purest  and   the   fairest, 
Sweet   lily   of   the   hills. 

1    August,    1909. 


mmmm 


'Flowers  that  strewed  the  way. 


MOUNTAIN  HEATHER. 


High  on    the  mountains   the   heather   bells   grow, 
High  on  the  mountains  where  rivulets  flow, 
Up  on  the   ridges  where  clean   breezes  blow, 
High   on   the   mountains   the   heather   bells   grow, 

The    marmot    creeps, 

The   eaglet  sleeps, 
The   linnet   and  junco   nest   and  sing; 

The  mazama  leaps, 

O'er    dazzling   steeps, 
Where  heather  bells   sway   and   ring. 

High   on    the   mountains   our   brave   spirits   climb, 
Up   to   the  heights  where   the  sun  measures   time, 
Up  where  the  stars  and  our  hearts  seem  to  rhyme, 
High  on   the  mountains  our  brave  spirits  climb. 

The   tired   one   sleeps, 

When    evening   creeps, 
And   the   planets   their  vespers   sing; 

Till    the    sun    first   peeps 

In   the  vale's  warm  deeps 
And  the  heather  bells  sway  and  ring. 

High  on   the  mountains   the  heather  bells   grow, 
High   on   the   mountains   where   rivulets    flow, 
Up  on   the  ridges  where  clean   breezes  blow, 
High  on   the  mountains   the  heather  bells   grow, 

4  August,    1909. 


THE  ALPINE  FIR. 


Rugged   spire   of   emerald 

I    love   thy   lofty   home. 

Thy  hands  with  upturned  fingers 

E'er   beckon   me   to  come. 

Thy   scars   of   winter   tempest 
On  trunk  and  shattered  limb 
Proclaim  the  brave  companion 
Of   mountain's   cragged    rim. 

May   I,    like   thee,   in  struggles 
Breathe  free   the  upper  air ; 
May    I    be    true    and    steadfast, 
This  to  God  in  prayer. 

1    August,    1909. 


THE  VIOLIN  IN  CAMP. 


Seated   round   the   campfire   on   the   shoulders    of   Rainier 
We   were   busy   with   our   singing   and   the   best   of   campfire   cheer 
When  there  fell  a  sudden  silence  and  each  one  hushed  to  see 
Whence  came   the  quivering  cadence  of  exquisite  melody. 

The   alpine  firs   and  hemlocks   in  stately   columns   stood 

While    through    them   poured    the    music,    entrancing    rythmic    flood. 

Was   this   a   Druid's   forest,   where   old  spirits   come   to  haunt 

The   new   world's   swift    forgetting  with   a   sweet   and   plaintive   taunt? 

Enchained   each   soul   to   silence,    from   needled   boughs   still    fell 
The  strains  of  Handel's  Largo,  mysterious  soothing  spell; 
O'er    the   valley   sped    the    music,    past    the   overhanging   peak, 
Sped  on  wings  of  mountain  breezes   that   a   way   to   Heaven   seek. 

Should   I   stand  midst  chiselled  columns  neath  cathedral's  spiral   tower 
And  bathe   in   all   the   brilliance   of   the   organ's   mighty  power, 
Should   I   know   that   every   echo   had   the   world's   approving   stamp, 
My  awakened  soul   would   listen   for   the  violin   in  camp 

4  August,    1909. 


'Just   a   laughing  little   mirror,    just  a  shining  little  gem."     Photo  by  I.  M.  Jensen 


MYSTIC  LAKE. 


In  a  valley  of  the  mountain  that  was  made  for  thee  alone 
Thou  art  mistress,   little  ruby,   thou  art  very  much  at  home. 
Like  a  setting  is  thy  valley  of  a  very  precious  stone. 
Like  a  jewel   art  thou,   ruby,    from   the   mountain's  crested   dome. 

When  the  storms  that  sweep  the  summits  seek  thy  nest,  thou  little  sprite, 
They  will  find  no  boats  to  shatter,  they  will  find  no  ships  to  wreck. 
They  will  find  thee  quaintly  smiling  in  thy  valley's  arms  locked  tight. 
And    their    angry,    blustering    torment    thou    can'st    laughingly    reflect. 

May  thy  ruby,   little  valley,  be   to  thee   forevermore 

Just  a  laughing  little  mirror,  just  a  shining  little  gem. 

Tell   thy   flowers  to  creep   up  closer   to  her  grassy  sloping  shore 

Till    they    crown    her    laughing    forehead — a    living    diadem. 

6   August,    1909. 


CRATER  LAKE. 


How  placid   thy   waters  here   high   on   the  mountain 
With   castles  above  thee  and  forests   around! 

How  sheer  are  the  cliffs  that  frown  o'er  thy  bosom! 
How  clear  the  wild  echoings  sharply  rebound! 

In   ages   agone   when  mountain   fires   smoldered 
And  ice-laden  clouds  sought  vainly  to  drown, 

Thy   parent   arose,    majestic   in   grandeur, 

And    gazed    o'er    the    canyons    neath    snow    jewelled    crown. 

The  king  of  the  nether  world  marshaled  his  demons, 
Arrayed   them   to  battle  with   ice-cloud  and  rock; 

They   shook   the   deep   canyons    and    far   valleys    trembled 
And  trembled  thy  mountain  in  fierce  battle  shock. 

In  vain   was   the   sceptre  of   snow   mountain's   kingdom 

Uplifted   as  signal  to  all   the  grand  clan; 
In   vain,   for   the   demons   had   centered   their   forces, 

Had   rushed   to   the   battle   with   masterful   plan. 

So  down  came  the  crown  and  low  fell  the  sceptre, 
Away  flowed  the  jewels  in  hot  molten  streams, 

And   far  distant  cliffs   in  sympathy  echoed 

The  booming  and   roars  of   a  monarch's  death  screams. 

The  demons,  in  leaving,   raised  rude  sculptured  castle 
As  symbol   that  here  had  once   reigned  a  king 

And  near   it  the  trees  have   lifted  their  branches 
Inviting  the  robins  to  nest  there  and  sing. 

Then   soft   in   the  wound   that   the   fire   demons   blasted 
Thy   clean   limpid   waters  have   silently  crept; 

Aloft  art  thou  held  a  mountain's  pure  chalice 

Of  tears  vanquished   ice-clouds  while  dying  have   wept. 

6  August,    1909. 


